The True Story of Krycek and Marita
by Mia Jones
Summary: Updated Ch. 4. How Alex Krycek and Marita Covarrubias met in Krasnayorsk, Russia.Alex is handing over the state during the collapse of the Soviet Union. Marita has been given the charge of The Project, who will be born any day.Sex and love follows.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or institutions. They belong to Christ Carter and 1013 productions.

Marita hadn't ever ridden a train until she came to work in Russia. Soot speckled the window. Grazing the pads of her fingers on the tarnished frame, she wished again they could have taken a plane to Krasnoyarsk. The train car swayed on the rails. The incessant clacking and chug beat into her skull. She felt a swoon of nausea drip from her nose to her stomach. The Trans-Siberian Railroad was a rough and forgotten line.

But if Marita felt sick, it was nothing compared to her companion's illness. Katya Vaginov seemed to both clutch and push away the bulky expanse of her belly. Her black hair made her skin seem even paler, nearly blue with veins and discomfort. Marita awkwardly patted Katya's frail hand. But her companion jerked it away and leaned closer to the wall next to the door. Marita sighed, but didn't speak. She resumed her watch out the window; noted the cluster of army trucks and tanks beside the tracks. But the train passed too quickly to see the soldier's faces. The world was painfully grey with old snow grown dirty from motor exhaust.

The train slowed for miles, creeping into the edges of civilization. Although the graffiti should have made her wary, the lurid colors and shapes on the station's walls were cheerful and bright against the low sky and the squatting buildings. Marita's Cyrillic wasn't impeccable, but she could read the messages reasonably well. In blood red were the words: "Fuck you, Gorbachev." Marita deciphered another group of letters as: "Down with the Union."

The fact that there was any graffiti at all on the train station was a testament to the inevitability to the messages. The Soviet Union was days from collapse. It was an unfortunate place and time to be, but Marita had a job to do. The Consortium sent her months ago to Russia, to oversee a project. It had to be brought to completion.

She wound her scarf tightly around her face and pulled the brim of her cap to her nose. Katya rubbed the lowest ridge of her spine. Her rotund stomach stuck out like a large ball hidden beneath her coat. She whined wordlessly, just loud enough for Marita to hear. Marita grabbed her suitcase, an old fashioned hard backed valise that her father had used during the War. It now carried all of her belongings she could claim during the past nine months.

"Let's go, the truck will be waiting," she said. Her Russian was slow. She had to choose every word carefully. She tried to let the language slip out harshly, but it always came out sounding apologetic. Katya rolled her eyes and walked out the car without picking up her own bag. Marita slung the backpack over her shoulder. It was very light.

A man with a thick beard drove the truck. Katya sat in the middle, which forced her to straddle the shift with a leg on either side. The driver, who didn't bother to introduce himself, shifted the gears tentatively with his hand between her legs. Katya frowned the whole ride and occasionally farted loudly. She didn't apologize for her body, but rather glared at Marita from the corner of her eye. Marita ignored her, as she had done for nine months. She enjoyed what seemed to be the sole privilege of her position: sitting by the window.

"Where are we going?" asked Katya three hours into the ride. She shifted in her seat, twisting her back and stretching out her legs. Snow crunched under the tires. Flakes fell from the sky. It looked like a cloud of dust.

Marita didn't answer. She picked at a hangnail on her thumb. It ripped off, accompanied by a bloom of blood on her fair skin.

"To the old Palace," the driver answered eventually. The rumble of the diesel engine was the only noise for the remaining hour of the trip. The ground turned whiter and cleaner as the snow increased.

The old Palace. The letter had arrived a week ago in her small office in Kamchotkan. She almost didn't receive it. She was too busy watching the portable television on her desk. For days, the reports had been getting more alarming. Factories were closing. Armies were patrolling, though no official orders from the Kremlin had been issued. People crushed themselves into endless lines winding for blocks, eventually leading into the state banks. The airports weren't running, all flights officially canceled.

She had called her superior, but he had little advice for her. "Just stay where you are. Make sure Ms. Vaginov brings the baby to term. Then wait for further orders."

The post hadn't been delivered for weeks, so for some time she had given up checking her mailbox on the outside of her decrepit building. But on a whim, last Tuesday, she opened the tin box. A crisp, unmarked envelope stood out starkly in the dark shadows.

"Dear Ms. Covarrubias," it began. It had been written on a typewriter. "I'm fortunate to know of your position. Although our friends around the world may be ignorant of the Soviet Union's unrest, I know that it's a bad time and place for two young women, such as yourself and Ms. Vaginov to be. I'm particularly concerned for your companion. If it's a bad time for women, then it's an even worse time for a pregnant one. I've recently come into a position of power in the Russian state of Krasnoyarsk Krai. Allow me to extend an invitation of protection for you and Ms. Vaginov. I can assure you that you will be safer here than Kamchotkan. On December 1, at the Podkamennya station in Krasnoyarsk, there will be a driver waiting on the platform to take you to the old Palace where I am temporarily residing. He will recognize you. Arrive any time, he will be there all day.

Sincerely yours,

Comrade Krycek"

And now the old Palace, trimmed in gold and burgundy, glimmered through the snow storm. Marita slid out the truck door, slowing her descent by clutching at the frame with her gloved hands. She sunk up to her knees in the snow. Her coat grazed a trail in the drifts. She extended a hand to help Katya, but the sullen woman had already jumped out on the driver's side.

A few men, clad in the heavy, body-length coats of the Soviet military uniform, scrambled through the snow. They took Marita's two bags silently and gestured for her to walk to the Palace before them. They cradled automatic rifles on their hips, slung from leather straps of their shoulders.

The Palace was unheated. Marita's breath clouded like smoke. The foyer had the dark look of an unlit house in the daytime. Only dim, winter light filtered through the dirty windows. There was a broken gilt chair lying on the hardwood floor. A twisted staircase, covered in a mud-stained red carpet, wound up the center to the floors above. Marita didn't take off her coat or her gloves.

Katya wandered. Her steps echoed hollowly. She left fingerprints on a mirror that was as tall as herself. She scowled at the bloated reflection. Marita's own reflection looked shadowy and vague. Her shock of silver, blonde hair jutted out from under her hat. The little red star above the brim looked dull against the grey wool. Her shoulders hunched from fatigue in her black, wool coat. She tried to smooth her hair, but her gloved hands just made it tangle more from static.

A low voice made her jump and forget her reflection. "Ms. Covarrubias."

A man stood in the corner of the room. His face hidden by his own military cap. His hair was buzzed short, in the fashion of many of the Soviets, but his accent was distinctly American. Though this should have made Marita feel safer, it only made her more wary of this dark gentleman.

"Glad you made it. Follow me," he ordered. Marita didn't move even as he took a step towards the door out the foyer. He paused; cleared his throat, and tapped his thighs with his fists awkwardly. He changed direction. Marita found his hand pushing against her back, firmly forcing her out of the room. She felt a horrible quaver descend to her toes, as if every nerve in her body shivered. It all seemed like a horrible mistake now. She didn't even know who this man was. The letter crushed in her pocket seemed so pitiful now.

"What about…?" she asked weakly, looking over her shoulder at Katya.

"She'll be taken care of. Don't worry, she's very precious to me."

Marita tried to stop, but his firm push turned into a vice-like grip on her arm. He pulled her through room after room of decaying books, broken bottles, carpets damp from melted snow tracked in by too many boots, and forgotten portraits of Czarist nobles hanging on the walls.

He forced her up a side set of stairs. Her feet barely touched the steps as he carried her up by her hips. She felt completely out of the control of the situation.

"Stop!" she cried. She jabbed an elbow back into his chest, but it repelled her. He snatched her wrist and twisted in behind her back without stopping his pace through the Palace.

They ended in a bedroom, set in the far corner of the house. Windows made of crossed hatched iron cut weak beams of checkered light into the dim room. An unmade four-poster bed dominated the room. There was a tin basin on a small table against the wall. Papers and unfolded maps littered the floor. The man dropped her wrist and shoved her forward.

Marita fell onto her hands. The floor felt icy even through her gloves. She stood up quickly and faced him.

"What is the meaning of this? Who are you? I was promised protection," she said smoothly. She covered her fear with the usual cool façade in which the Consortium had trained her.

He smiled wickedly, showing his almost cat-like teeth. His eyes were unusually sharp and calculating. He didn't have the depressed look of the usual Soviet soldier, though he was dressed as one. Looking back, Marita would only say that he looked…intelligent. It was not that the men of the Soviet Union weren't smart or clever. But he had the look of a man who made his own orders.

"You look tired, Marita."

She snorted though it was true. She had been traveling since four a.m. The waning light from the windows made her think it was probably around six o'clock in the evening.

She glanced around the room, taking in all details, looking for anything that could help her. But during her fast perusal, she noticed him watching her, taking equal note of her subtle actions, her defensive body-language, and her uneven breath. He licked the side of his lips and took off his hat. He tossed it like a Frisbee onto the bed.

"I'll get to it then. My name is Alex Krycek. I sent you the letter that brought you here," he said, almost casually, as if they were only meeting in a bar.

"Obviously," Marita snapped. He shrugged out of his coat and folded it over the edge of a chair. "But what does that mean? What's your authority here?"

Alex smiled. "I've just taken control of this state. Transitional government of Krasnoyarsk," he answered coolly. He tugged his gloves off each finger before dropping them onto the water basin table. Marita noticed the water was frozen.

"You must be joking, you're American."

He locked the deadbolt on the door, though Marita doubted anyone in this place would disturb them anyway. The Palace sounded empty. Alex brushed past her and knelt in front of the fireplace. Using the poker, he scraped off ash that covered a few glowing embers. He grabbed a handful of papers indiscriminately from the floor and balled them up. He fed these into the fire, which caught quickly.

While he fussed with the small pile of sticks and logs on the hearth, Marita considered escaping from the room. There was nothing locking her in with him, but she decided against this. They were on the fringes of an endless steppe and the Siberian forest. Even if his men let her leave the house, there was no where to go but frozen wilderness. Besides, she couldn't leave Katya and the unborn baby, no matter how much the woman wanted to be left alone.

"I am American. But, I was born Russian. KGB."

The pieces began to make sense. "You're answer to the Consortium then. A KGB operative." He didn't answer her, just poked at the fire. Marita could feel no warmth on her side of the room.

"I do, but not to your superior. I work for Spender."

"That shit?" Marita asked harshly. Alex looked over his shoulder and smiled appreciatively at her, looking her over from her heavy boots to her ruffled head. Marita refused to recognize his appraisal. He stood up and strode across the room. She had to take a step back to avoid the collision he wanted to make with her body. He stared down at her, breathing a little heavily. Marita wanted to move away and button her coat the top of her neck. He grabbed her chin suddenly with his thumb and forefinger. His strength in just those digits was frightening. He shook her face hard with this pinch.

"You're boss and my boss don't like each other, which means that we can't like each other. But I can use you right now, and I can especially use the little whelp your Katya's about to spawn. So I offer you this, and know that this is more of an order than an offer because I won't let you refuse: stay with me here while I hand over the state when the Union officially dissolves. You'll live, but I get the baby. Clear?"

"What do I get?" Marita choked.

Alex grinned. "The pleasure of my company. And I did say you get to live, which has to be something." He paused for a moment before continuing, as if considering whether or not to reveal his next statement. "I invited you here after receiving intelligence that Katya was in danger. You're too young to protect her," he said, looking down at Marita's thin body. "The Project is too valuable to lose."

Marita swatted Alex's grip away with her hand, but she had the impression that he simply chose to let her loose. Her slap had been totally ineffectual.

"I'm twenty-one. I'm completely qualified. Besides, you can't be much older than me," she said. Alex watched her silently for a moment.

"It's surprising that they sent a woman to protect the project," he answered finally. He walked towards the bed with his hands in his pockets. Marita rubbed her chin.

"They thought a woman would be better at managing a pregnancy," she answered. Alex laughed derisively.

"Well, she'll be safe here. I have an army lodged behind the Palace," he said quietly in Russian. He flopped down onto the bed and rolled onto his back. He stared at the cracked plaster of the ceiling with one hand tucked behind his head. "Come here, Marita."

At first, she didn't move. But Marita understood that she was more or less his prisoner. She walked slowly to the edge of the bed until her thighs brushed the edge of the sheets. His arm shot out and grabbed her around the waist, giving her butt a firm squeeze and a sharp slap. Marita protested, clawing at his hand, but his muscles were hard and unmoving. He dragged her on top of him. She struggled to sit up, but his arms locked around her.

"Well, you don't get to stay here for free you know," he said in a low tone. He kissed her roughly though her lips were hard and snarling. She tried to claw at his face but his caught her wrists easily. He flipped her over so his weight pinned her down.

"Isn't the baby payment enough? You've given me no choice in that matter."

"You had lots of choice, Marita. You could have chosen to not come at all. But you thought this would be your best bet. In Krasnoyarsk, I'm Comrade Krycek, dictator for the week. You're in no position to make demands of me."

Marita struggled to get free. Her back arched to push him off, but he only took this as an opportunity to press his hard groin against her soft body. She tired quickly, completely out of breath. Alex looked unfazed and amused.

"What do you want?" she asked breathlessly.

"I'd think that was pretty obvious. I want you for the next seven nights. And when the baby is born, which should be any day now, I want that as well. And when the Union officially dissolves, I promise to get you back to the States."

The last resolve made her stop and think. The truth was, the Consortium had provided her no way to leave Russia. The baby would be an added difficulty. It occurred to her that perhaps the child was not meant to return to the United States with her. It was important, but not important enough to expose the Consortium. The thought of taking care of a stranger's baby in a strange land for an unspecified amount of time made her feel sick to her stomach. She didn't want the hateful job of policing Katya. The woman had already tried two self-abortions: once with a clothes hanger, and once by throwing herself down a flight of stairs.

Alex's final offer was tempting. All she wanted was to get out of this dead place and return to her comfortable apartment in New York. Her superiors seemed willing to let her rot where she stood.

"Deal," Marita said quietly and looked him straight in the eye as she uttered this simple agreement. Alex gave her a crooked smile and buried himself into her neck, kissing hungrily at the soft skin. But he left without undressing her. He stoked the fire and put on his coat, gloves and hat. He gripped the hard bulge in his pants, tried to press it down before he left the room.

Marita sighed in bed but didn't sit up. She felt the unbearable waves of sleep press on her eyes. Her place and Katya's secured at the Palace, she felt comfortable to let her exhaustion consume her. She decided to deal with the sex later. She would give him cold kisses, if that's what he wanted, but she doubted if he could really force her to do anything. He was intelligent and scheming, forceful and aggressive, but he didn't seem like a rapist. No, Alex Krycek would have to be happy with a kiss and conversation. She wouldn't relent on that. She wasn't a prostitute, though she was desperate enough to do almost anything to go home.

She didn't bother to remove her coat. The bed felt exquisitely soft. The sheets smelt only slightly stale. She sank her head into the goose-down pillow and let herself drift to sleep.

When Marita woke, she felt a flash of fear and disorientation that shook her. The room was dark except for the light from the dying fire and a small lantern on the floor. A man sat cross-legged on the thin rug, poring over a collection of papers. It took her a few seconds to remember that it was Alex. She was in the Palace: her prison for the final week of the Soviet Union.

Alex looked up when she startled awake. His face was passive. The steady glow of the kerosene lamp made him look older and more tired than he had appeared earlier. He observed her for a moment, and then returned back to his reading.

Marita didn't know what to do. She didn't want to sit in the bed of the man who had bartered her passage out of Russia for sex only hours earlier. But she didn't feel welcome to investigate his room, especially not while he stood sentry on the floor. As she sat, considering her next move, she noticed that the room felt warmer, that she felt softer.

Her coat was gone. Her heavy sweaters and trousers had disappeared off her body as well.

"Where are my clothes?" Marita asked in a high pitched, disbelieving voice. Alex didn't bother to look up, nor did he answer her. A smooth nightgown had replaced her traveling clothes. "What is this?"

"Those clothes were fine for traveling. It's not safe to look too feminine when law and order is going down the shit hole. But I prefer my whores to be a little softer when I fuck them," Alex answered blandly without looking up. He made a note in the margins of a page. Marita gathered the covers to her chest.

"I'm not your whore." This reply made Alex smile. He set down his work and leaned back on his elbows. He stretched out his long legs and crossed his bare feet. "I'm a special representative for the United Nations," Marita continued. "I'm not an idiot. I don't need to sell myself," she said, her voice rising ever so slightly. Alex looked entertained with his head half-cocked to one side as he watched her. Marita cleared her throat and tried to quell her trembling. The room was silent except for the gentle popping of the last piece of wood in the fire. Finally, Alex broke the tension.

"Except you did," he said. "I know you're smart, Marita. I've had you watched for sometime." Marita wanted to bury underneath the comforting pillows, but she knew rationally that this wouldn't escape him. Rather, it would affirm his control.

"Why were you spying on me?"

"I keep tabs on most people in the Consortium at a certain level. I have to know my competition."

"Competition for what?"

"To eventually replace our superiors. To continue the conspiracy."

"So you want to continue it just for the sake of conspiracy?" Marita asked. This made Alex frown. He pushed himself off the floor. He crossed the room to an antique bureau that must have been too heavy for looters to carry off during the revolution decades ago. He opened the top drawer, which became stuck, and pulled out a handful of photographs. He climbed into bed. Marita scooted away to the other side, but Alex rolled next to her. He passed her the pictures, then sank into the pillows.

They were pictures of her: helping Katya out of a taxi, carrying groceries in a brown paper bag, reading her mail at the steps of her office. There was even a picture taken through the window of her apartment. She was clad only in a towel, brushing her wet hair. Luckily, the curtain obscured most of her body.

"You had me followed," Marita said with no emotion in her voice. Though secretly, she felt violated and used. But to what purpose? The photos were very innocent looking.

"Yes I did. I needed to know what you were doing with Katya."

"Well these don't look very useful for that."

"No, I had one of my men go through your office for the more useful information. The amniocentesis results were really what I was looking for. Medical reports. That sort of thing," Alex mumbled into her back. He gently kissed her through the nightgown at the skin just below her shoulder blade. She shivered, partly from disgust, and partly from the unexpected pleasure of the caress that made her flush.

"Let him," she thought to herself. It meant nothing to her. "So why did you need these photographs," she asked aloud. She dropped the pile into her lap. Alex sat up and spread the photos across the covers.

"Have you ever been to a whore house?"

"I have not," Marita answered coldly.

"Then you wouldn't know they don't just display the girls for you. They give you a book with all the whore's photographs. You point at the one you want. I had the photos taken for intelligence purposes originally, but I ended up using them to choose the prostitute I needed."

"You're a sicko."

"No," he laughed almost inanely. "I'm just tired, and stressed. Ever tried to take over a state?"

"No," Marita said, though it had been a rhetorical question.

"Well, it's fucking hard work. I need a lay." As he spoke these words, his hands began to creep up her legs and under her nightgown. Marita struggled away and jumped out of bed. Alex followed her. He tore off his shirt. The room felt thick, like a sauna. But the floor was still cold against Marita's feet.

"I'll catch you, Marita," he said stubbornly.

She ran to the door, panicked. But it was locked. So he did have a key to keep her trapped.

"Don't come any closer," she said, her voice shaking. Alex's eyes were dark. The gaunt planes of his face looked sharper in the shadows. His defined chest and lean ribs heaved.

"Come here," he ordered. He rushed forward before she could dart away and caught her in his arms. He easily hoisted her onto one shoulder. Marita found herself tossed into bed and flipped onto her stomach. Her teeth chattered from the force of the throw.

He grabbed her nightgown and pushed it up her back, exposing her round ass.

"Oh Jesus," he whispered. He fingered her softly. Marita tried to climb away, but he shoved her head into the sheets. "Don't move, you bitch."

Marita had been wrong. She had miscalculated horribly. He was a cruel man. He would rape. He would do anything if it benefited himself.

"God, you have a nice, big ass," he said in a raspy voice. This mortified her further.

But as he held her head down on the bed, and alternated between stroking and slapping her clit, she couldn't help but become wet. She couldn't stop herself from grinding against his hand. And this made him moan and urge her on. He called her a dirty whore. And she discovered that not only was Alex Krycek a cruel man, but that she couldn't stop herself from enjoying the domination. It wasn't rational. But she came for the first time that night. Her few lovers from the past seemed pitiful in comparison. They collapsed together, shuddering. She cried into the pillows afterwards. He slept as if he had passed out.

She closed her eyes determined to never let him see both how badly he had hurt her pride, and how much she had enjoyed it. She had to learn how to control this twisted relationship.

The next morning, Marita accompanied Alex into the ceremonies room of the Palace. The towering windows lining the southern wall showed her the extent of his army. There were only about twenty tents, and five tanks.

"This is it?" she asked incredulously. Alex straightened his hat, before taking it off once again to rub at the tarnish on the gold pin of the sword and the shield emblem.

"Don't question me like that when they get here. It's essential they understand that I'm in control."

"Ok, it just seems like no one will be impressed when they see that army."

"They're all special-ops. KGB's best. I don't need a lot of people to get the job done. I just need to scare the population into letting me control them for a few days."

"Explain," Marita ordered. She smoothed the front of the dark red dress she was wearing. Alex had provided it for her that morning. "Belongs to one of the camp whores," Alex had explained when he threw it at her, though he didn't seem to mean it unkindly.

"Do you know what Stalin translates to?"

"No, what?"

"Man of steel. He could sustain control in Russia with little mind-fuck games like that."

"He also was a brutal dictator who had millions of his citizens killed or exiled for bogus ideological reasons," Marita said with venom. Alex down at his boots.

"I'm not trying to kill anyone. My family is from this region. But it's an important place for the Consortium. They need to make sure that Krasnoyarsk moves smoothly into the right hands," Alex answered, sounding nearly apologetic. Marita shrugged and turned towards the window. She traced stars and sickles and hammers in the frosted glass.

"Stop that," Alex ordered, and wiped it all away with the cuff of his jacket. He looked very crisp and imposing in his uniform. He leaned on the glass and spoke into her wincing face. "I need you to look good, ok? Don't say anything. Your Russian is terrible," he said under his breath.

"Then let me go and visit Katya. I'm not useful to you here."

Alex smiled and for a second Marita thought he looked like any college boy at home: sweet but mischievous.

"You really have no idea how a pretty woman effects a man. You'll distract them and you'll make me look better for having someone like you around to fuck," he said. Marita took it all back. He could look so sweet, and yet be so vile.

"Fine, then let me make sure Katya's ok."

"You mean, let you make sure the baby's ok."

The harsh statement couldn't be refuted, so Marita didn't respond. There was no smart-ass comeback for the sins of her job.

She looked around at the nearly empty room as Alex bent to rub at a scuff on his boot with his thumb. It must have been a dance hall. The planks of the wood floor were arranged in an intricate pattern of diamonds. Chairs lined the walls, though there were gaps in this lineup, so it looked like the room was missing teeth. The whispery lines of the wall paper and the arched windows dated the room to the turn of the century, pre-Bolshevik of course. But she noticed two large cabinets at the two far corners of the room. She walked across the floor, her heels tapped loudly. Before she could reach either object, Alex said:

"They're speaker cabinets."

"But there's no power," Marita said softly. She wrinkled her nose in confusion. The speakers were nearly as tall as she was. They looked completely out of place in the dance hall.

"They should be turning on the generators pretty soon," Alex answered. As if his words were the voice of God, the cheap, electric chandeliers hanging from the ceiling turned on. The speakers began to hum with the zing of high voltage.

"Our guests must be here," Alex muttered. He pulled his hat lower over his eyes and crossed the room past Marita. He fiddled with the controls of the speakers, then adjusted the needle of a record player Marita hadn't noticed before sitting on the floor next to one of the speakers. He flipped a switch which sent the record spinning slowly.

Heavy metal music, deathly and ghoulish blasted out the speakers at level just above a comfortable volume. Alex jogged back across the room to Marita. He straightened next to her and smoothed his uniform. He propped one fist against his hip and faced the door. He waited like an actor on stage before the curtain has risen.

Two Soviet soldiers, of high rank according to their medals and stripes, entered the room. They looked surprised and shaken. The wood floor vibrated from the music. Alex greeted the men smoothly in his fluent Russian. Marita just looked bored.

But secretly, the display fascinated her. The two Soviets were in their fifties. But both of them were nearly a head shorter than Alex. And the music noticeably rattled them. They seemed confused, as if they couldn't entirely understand Alex's harsh orders and demands. It helped that the light from the windows backlit him, so he must have appeared dark and menacing to the Soviets, yet surrounded by a golden halo. Marita even considered that she too was playing a part in the power game, just as Alex had predicted. One of the two men couldn't stop looking at her.

The effect was real. Alex was young, dangerous looking and sounding. He was also apparently virile and dominant, if the gratuitous female was an indicator. The elder soldiers deferred quickly, offered their help and their loyalty. Alex accepted graciously, but he also managed to imply that he didn't need it. That he was above them. Within twenty minutes, the meeting was over.

Alex joined Marita who was looking out the window at nothing in particular besides the lovely new sheen of the fresh snow. The power shut off and the room fell silent again. Marita was glad. The music was giving her a headache.

"That went well," Marita said quietly. Alex's reflection in the window examined her with surprise. He looked taken aback. "But he shouldn't," Marita thought to herself. "Why shouldn't his game have as great effect on me as it had on those two men."

Alex swallowed audibly and regained his poise, his deathly cool.

"You can go see Katya now." He stalked out the room, already stripping himself of the oppressive uniform. Although she didn't want to, she needed to see the hateful woman. For all Marita knew, Katya could have begun her labor already.

"There are doctor's available?" Marita called out after Alex.

He stopped at the door, unbuttoning his shirt. "Of course," he said as if it was the stupidest question in the world. He left. Marita went to explore the palace, to find the Project.

12


	2. Chapter 2

Katya had been given a stately room on the other end of the Palace. But a silent guard watched the closed door. Marita knew that Katya would not be given the same freedoms to wander the Palace as she had. But the guard opened the door for her without question or hesitation, as if he were simply following orders. Marita appreciated that Alex was at least true to his word. It gave her some hope that at the end of the week he would actually help her leave this dismal place. Perhaps, she would even be eating a cheeseburger at the 5th street McDonalds when it was all over. She could go shopping at Barney's. She would treat herself to every American, capitalist pleasure that the Soviet Union had denied her for the better part of a year. It may have seemed petty, but she missed those little things. She missed feeling like a citizen and not just a foreigner caught up in someone else's battle.

"Katya? How are you?" Marita asked softly as she entered the room. It was dark. The windows faced west so her room would not be lit until later in the afternoon. The layout was not dissimilar to Alex's bedroom. It had the look of sacked opulence. Katya lifted her head weakly off the bed. She was swathed under two sets of quilts. The room was frigid, as was most parts of the Palace.

Marita pulled up a chair beside the bed. She felt Katya's forehead. It was sticky with sweat. Katya glared at her, cold and unblinkingly. Marita bit her lip. Her hand traced down to the swollen belly. The unborn baby was kicking.

Marita felt a moment of warm feeling for the child. Although the Project had been a difficult and painful experience (she would admit to hating it occasionally), she couldn't help but feel tender for the baby she had watched grow from the very beginning.

"Should be any day now, wouldn't you say?" Marita asked in the best Russian she could manage. Katya smiled softly.

"I pray to God it comes soon, because I can't stand having this Alien use my body a day longer," she said coldly.

Marita forgot herself for a moment and stared. Katya felt nothing for the child. But then again, Katya was only a surrogate mother, not the true biological parent. Perhaps, her body felt no connection to the fetus though it grew and survived off her.

"You knew what this was about, Katya. You were paid well for your services."

"No I didn't know what this was about. You didn't tell me the whole story."

"That information was and still is classified."

"But I can tell Marita. This thing is not human," Katya said as if she were spitting the hateful words. Marita sighed. The woman had been like this from almost the moment of conception. "Besides, what good is the money now. The Ruble is almost worthless," Katya continued, looking at the ceiling.

Marita could think of nothing else to say. So she instead busied herself taking Katya's vital signs. She parted the woman's legs to check her dilation, but she was no where near the full ten centimeters necessary for labor. Katya didn't push Marita's hands away, but merely tolerated the intrusive procedures.

"What did that man want you for, last night?" Katya asked as Marita finished her examination.

"Just bartering with me for our protection and passage," Marita answered carefully. She walked to the basin across the room and broke the ice. The water numbed, but also cleaned her hands. She always felt dirty after checking on Katya.

"What's his name?"

"Comrade Krycek. De facto dictator of Krasnoyarsk." Marita dried her hands on the skirt of her dress. She pulled the edges of her cardigan closer together. Her skin was covered in goose bumps from the cold.

"What does he want?"

But Marita felt no need to answer that. Katya belonged to her, not the other way around. She felt a sickening sense of guilt. Marita treated her charge not unlike how Alex had treated her the night before. Only Marita had been doing it for the past nine months. She had kept Katya a virtual prisoner. She had forced invasive tests. But it had all been for her job, for the Consortium. They needed the data. But it didn't make it feel any less wrong.

The door of the room opened. Alex walked in without knocking. He looked at Katya from the end of the bed.

"Comfortable?" he asked. Katya didn't bother to even nod. The room hung silent for a few moments until Alex finally ripped the covers away. Katya didn't move, though her hands gripped at the mattress.

He walked around the bed until he stood next to her. Katya looked away and closed her eyes.

"You've checked her?" Alex asked Marita in English. Marita answered weakly. He laid his right hand on Katya's belly. He considered for a moment, then spun on his heel and walked out the room. He grabbed Marita's elbow and dragged her with him. She stumbled on her own feet.

In the hall they spoke quietly, ignoring the guard. Marita explained that labor did not look imminent. Alex looked worried for a second before he concealed the expression with his usual hard exterior.

"When's her due date?"

"Right now actually. Two days ago."

Alex sucked in a long breath. "Is there anyway to induce labor?" he asked finally.

"If you have the drugs. But I really doubt they're part of an army's medical kit," Marita answered. Alex nodded his head thoughtfully. They would have to wait. He looked troubled, as if he hadn't considered this possibility.

"I'm not worried," Marita offered. "She could easily begin any day now. There's still time."

"In six days, I'm traveling to the capital to sign some documents handing over the   
Krasnoyarsk. The Union will officially dissolve and this state will remain a part of Russia. I need to maintain control until then."

"Separatists?"

Alex nodded. "But when I sign the documents, then its someone else's problem."

"But you'll also lose power," Marita said in a low, even voice. Alex nodded again without looking at her.

"The baby needs to be born before then, or I can't give it any real protection."

"I understand that." She also understood the implication, that he couldn't protect her either. "How are you planning to get me out of here?"

Alex didn't answer for a moment. He scratched at the stubble that was already beginning to from on his chin, though it was not quite noon. "I have a private plane waiting on call at the Krasnoyarsk airport. It's small, but it should get you to Turkey at least. You can find your way home from there," he said finally, but he looked troubled, like he was seeing a problem somewhere in the empty space before him.

"But you need me here to finish watching Katya."

"I have doctors, but they're army doctors. I think having a woman around would be useful."

"Well, I'm depending on your doctors, because I'm not a midwife."

"I know that. Humor me anyway."

Marita finally nodded in agreement. If she were in Katya's position, she wouldn't want to be left alone with so many harsh and clinical men. Although, she wasn't sure if Katya found any comfort in her company. But Marita was at least a familiar face. Besides, she couldn't leave the Project. She had to follow her orders that at least far, though she had disobeyed them already by coming to Krasnoyarsk.

"Thank you, Alex," she said as they walked through the Palace. He raised a single eyebrow.

"For making you a whore? For taking away your Project?"

"For at least promising to get me out of here."

He didn't respond. It was true, that he didn't have to. But he obviously felt the need to repay her somehow. She didn't need money. But she did need his influence.

"I have to go into town today. A military demonstration. I'll need you there with me."

"To look pretty?"

"Yes," he answered simply. They now stood in the foyer. He grabbed his coat off the stair railing. He tossed a jacket at her. It was lined in thick, dark fur around the collar and on the ends of the sleeves. Marita held it distastefully at a distance from her body. Everything she had been provided, the leather boots, the black stockings, the blood red dress, and now the fur coat, were obviously from the wardrobe of a whore pretending to be high class. She knew she looked both expensive and cheap.

"Deal with it," Alex said harshly, as if he could read her mind. "It's warm at least." Which was true, as the coat was lined with the same rich fur on the inside. It gave her the silhouette of a bell, flaring slightly at her hips.

"Fine," she answered flatly, and followed him out the door.

The city seemed deserted, though Marita was unsure where the residents could hide. Forest and steppe surrounded them for miles. They were in the middle of Siberia.

But Marita didn't ask about the empty streets. Perhaps the people watched the demonstration from the safety of their windows. Marita walked a pace behind Alex, as instructed. The whole progression seemed surreal, like she were watching it on TV. Two army trucks moved slowly in front of them, displaying missiles propped at a long angle. Soldiers, marching in eerie unison, stamped behind them. The tanks were rolling slowly ahead of the trucks. Men on either side of Alex and Marita carried the bright red flags of the Soviet Union. Alex Krycek walked with a stony purpose.

Marita saw a child's face in the window of one of the dingy apartment buildings they passed. So they were being watched. From far behind them, trucks with mounted speakers blared the same violent music Alex had played earlier for his guests.

"What's the music for?" Marita asked him, cupping her hand over his ear as she shouted. He brushed her away.

"I'll conquer them with rock and roll," he answered gutturally in Russian. Marita knew she looked confused, but it finally struck her as they walked, that many of these people from this backwater Siberian state hadn't heard Western music until now. The Soviet Union had carefully censored most culture. Everything needed to reflect the glory of the Union, to re-enforce the ideological battle of communism. Rock and roll from the West was not permitted because it was subversive. "It can destroy the minds of our youth," the Office of Cultural Affairs at the Kremlin stated officially.

But Alex used the music, what Marita later learned was Metallica, to scare the population. It sounded like nothing they had heard before. It made him both foreign and menacing. It also made him seem more powerful than the Kremlin, as if he alone were above the cultural rules the rest of the Soviet Union had to follow. Though she disliked the music, Marita would admit it was an ingenious touch. Alex was a natural born dictator.

That night, she undressed in bed. She pushed the slip off her shoulders and let the silk pool around her hips. Alex watched her from the fireplace. He leaned on the stone mantle, holding a glass of vodka. He tossed the drink down and swallowed convulsively. He didn't look away from her rosy breasts, which seemed almost golden in the firelight. Marita wriggled the slip down her legs. She settled softly on top the sheets and pillows.

"What's this?" he asked quietly. Marita just smiled as seductively as she could manage. "You don't mind being my whore now?" he continued.

She propped herself on one elbow. Her body curved artfully, displaying her ass and the smooth dip of her waist. "No, I've just enjoyed your display today."

Alex grinned wickedly. He placed the empty glass on the mantle and walked towards her slowly. "Impressed?" he asked. He traced one finger down her ribs to her smooth hips. She knew her skin must have felt incredibly soft.

"It occurred to me that I'm sleeping with the Dictator of Krasnoyarsk."

Alex's smile grew more pleased. "You're attracted to power," he stated simply.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't appreciate power. Your letter told me enough about you."

Alex climbed into bed. He made a cage around her body using his arms and legs. She noticed that he was already hard.

"I suppose power is what brought you to the Consortium in the first place," he said as he began to kiss her breasts. He sucked at the nipples hungrily. Marita arched into his wet mouth. Shots of pleasure moved down her body.

"I could say the same for you."

"You are so fucking hot," he said raggedly.

"With what I've seen, you could practically rule the world if you really wanted to," Marita whispered in his ear. She rubbed his head softly, encouraging his kisses and caresses.

"Do I want to?" he mumbled into her belly.

"Why else would you want the Project so badly."

Alex paused just between her legs. Marita tried to look detached, but she had to admit, she was incredibly turned on. The ache was almost unbearable. He moved his thumb lazily around the wettest spot that she wanted touched most. She moaned softly.

"If I do want to rule the world, then I want you around to fuck while I'm at it." He grabbed her thighs harshly and pushed them apart further. The force and the suddenness made Marita gasp. She held onto the headboard behind her.

"I can help you Alex."

But he didn't answer. He fell onto her, pushed her, smacked her. She fought back desperately, though she enjoyed every second of it. She knew she should have felt humiliated and frightened. But the day's events had changed her perception of Alex. He was horribly cruel. The cruelest man she had ever met, besides Spender perhaps. But she realized that Alex Krycek was going places. He might answer to higher men now, but it was apparent that he would take their position someday soon. She would attach herself to this man, and rise with him. The power was an incredible aphrodisiac. Taking over the word may have sounded trite and silly, but not to Alex and Marita. They knew how the future had been engineered. They knew that someone, most likely unearthly visitors, would control the world in the coming years. So why couldn't it be them if they played their cards right.

The Project was just the first step in gaining the totalitarian power they wanted. The totality of knowledge.

Six days later…

Katya was a difficult woman. She wanted the baby out of her body. But she also refused to help her captors in any way. Alex was almost green with worry.

"Look, you're on TV," Marita called over her shoulder in the kitchen. The old wooden counters were grooved with scratches from ancient knives. The generator hummed steadily. The lights only occasionally flickered.

Alex looked up from the table where he was studying a map of Krasnoyarsk. His nose pressed almost to the paper.

On the black and white TV, the news program showed a group of men at the Kremlin in Moscow. They were flabby with middle age. Their uniforms could barely conceal their paunches. Every man looked empty and defeated. They filed across the desk and signed the papers in turn. The footage of Alex made him seem again greater than these old generals. He looked energized and pleased to sign the paper which officially dissolved the Soviet Union. Gorbachev had stepped down days earlier. Alex's face looked very handsome, but also dangerous.

Only earlier that week, in the final stages of his coup, Marita had seen just how dangerous he could be. Another group of Soviet bigwigs were sent to Alex's office on the top floor. But Alex hadn't been there to meet them. Instead, he walked in later after having them wait for an hour. He had shoved Marita to the side when she tried to walk in. Flustered, she had almost yelled at him. But when he withdrew a gun from under his coat, she shut up. He walked inside the office and shot every man in the head before they even had a chance to cry for help. Marita peaked inside from the edge of the door. Alex wasn't even shaking. He pocketed the gun and walked out. Beside each man on the walls was a spurt of blood.

Though she suspected Alex was a killer, this was her proof. But it didn't bother her. It was necessary. Alex must have received disturbing information concerning these men's loyalty. He didn't bother with the details, just eliminated the threat before it grew out of control.

The TV news program said it all. The Soviet Union had collapsed. These men, representatives of various Russian states and Soviet Satellite countries, abdicated their power willingly. It was no wonder Alex had been more jittery in the past day.

Katya had still not gone into labor. Alex's army had left almost as soon as he signed the papers. Marita found herself completely alone in the Palace, except for the dour company of Katya. The woman moped around her room and stared into space.

Alex returned to the deserted Palace the following day after the dissolution.

"This is not how I planned this," he had confessed to Marita. She wrapped her arms around his lean waist and buried her face into his chest. She stood on her toes and kissed him softly on the lips. He looked vacant.

"Don't worry, we can still get out."

"The plane is already gone. I wanted to send you out just before I signed the papers."

"It doesn't matter now. You can't force a woman into labor."

Alex lowered his eyes and looked darker. "I could just kill her," he whispered.

"No," Marita answered sharply. "Without the Project, we have nothing. We'll both have to return to the Consortium with _nothing_ to help us."

"We can't wait around here forever for her. Supplies are running out. The generator is almost out of gas. Marita, we're in trouble," he had stated flatly.

Sitting in the kitchen now, they looked almost domestic, were it not for the fact that both of them were painfully worried about the near future. She chopped onions on the counter with the bowie knife Alex loaned her. On the wood stove, a pot bubbled. Marita had simply opened a few cans of vegetables from the pantry and dumped them in. She added a beef bullion cube for good measure.

"Alex, she'll have the baby. She can't stay pregnant forever. And then we'll get out."

Alex didn't answer. He got up from his seat and grabbed a wooden spoon off the counter. He tasted the soup, and looked almost surprised.

"Not bad for field cooking."

Marita smiled appreciatively. They ate in silence. But when Marita took a bowl up to Katya's room, the silence was broken by agonizing groans and curses.

"Fuck you, for doing this to me. Fuck you, you bitch, you whore, twitching your cunt around for that shit! How could you do this," Katya wailed. She clutched at the edges of the sofa where she reclined awkwardly. The wood floor looked damp just beside the messy bed. Marita stared at Katya, open mouthed, for a second before dropping the bowl on the ground. Vegetables and broken bits of porcelain scattered on the floor. She ran down the stairs and burst into the kitchen.

"She's gone into labor," she said out of breath. Alex dropped his spoon in his bowl and sprinted past Marita on his long legs. He took the three flights of stairs two steps at a time.

"Christ," he muttered when Marita finally caught up with him next to Katya's heaving body on the sofa. He grabbed Marita's hand roughly.

"We know nothing about delivering babies, and we don't have a doctor," Marita whispered in English. Alex breathed heavily. His shoulders rose and fell. He didn't take his eyes off Katya. The light was already fading from outside. At that second, the generator chose to turn off. The gas was all gone now.

"Fuck," Marita cried. She clawed at her neck nervously in the dark.

Alex pushed past her. She followed him down the stairs. "Alex!" she called after him, but he ignored her. He stopped in one room and re-emerged holding a flashlight. But he still didn't look at her. He practically ran to the library. Marita followed at his heels, still trying to get his attention.

He stopped suddenly in front of one of the bookcases. Marita watched him, completely confused, as he shone the light over the spines of the moldy smelling books.

"What are you doing?"

"Marita, women have been having babies for thousands of years. Only in the past hundred or so have babies been delivered in hospitals. We can do it."

"But women always had more knowledgeable, older women around to help them. I'm younger than Katya, I know nothing about this," Marita answered almost tearfully.

"Look, I've seen it done."

"Where?"

"When I was eight, my sister just dropped in the field and said she was going to have her baby. There was no moving her. So my mother just helped her along right there."

"They let you watch?" Marita would have laughed if it had been appropriate. Alex was hard and sharp. He didn't seem like the type to watch the miracle of life. He rolled his eyes before reaching up and pulling a book down. He flipped it open. The pages showed medical illustrations of the heart, the brain and other parts of the body. The drawings were highly detailed and but faded with age.

"Look, it was like watching a cow give birth. Nothing special, it just kind of dropped out."

Marita wrinkled her nose in disgust. Why had the Consortium sent her to do this messy job? Alex looked up from the book.

"I'm not trying to be insensitive or anything, that's just what it looked like."

"You had cows?" Marita asked stupidly. Alex looked at her blankly. He shook his head as if it clear it.

"What? Yes, of course, I mean…Jesus Marita, I'll tell you about my family another time. This is what needs being done now." He pointed at the page which showed a grotesque picture of a fetus floating in a cross section of a womb.

"Alex, this book must be fifty or a hundred years out of date."

"I really doubt delivering babies has changed all that much."

"But this is the Project. It is different! That's _not_ a human baby in there."

Alex marked the page and snapped the book shut. A puff of dust flew into the small patch of air illuminated by the flashlight. The room was already pitch-black. They would have to deliver the Project in the dark.

"Marita," Alex began, but stopped. He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips. "I promise you, the baby will be born, and that I will get you out of Russia safely."

They stared hard at each other for a few moments. The intensity of his eyes and his voice made her want to kiss him, to seduce him in gratitude for his willful resolution to get through the night. He was a powerful man. She would not let him down by allowing herself girlish weakness. She nodded, ready to help him. He smiled down at her, which made her blush. She was afraid she was already in love with this man. But she would think of that after the baby was born.

9


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or institutions. They belong to Christ Carter and 1013 productions.

Alex could barely lift Katya off the sofa. He strained under her weight, but the short distance from the sofa to the bed was made much harder by her thrashing.

"Get off of me, you rat!" she screamed. Two of her long fingernails left sharp indents on his cheek. Blood beaded, but did not drip.

"Oh Christ," was all he said. This surprised Marita. He had punished her more forcefully in bed for far less. He had smacked her on the mouth only last night for failing to keep her head down on the mattress while he fucked her.

Alex lowered the squalling woman onto the sheets. He dragged her down to the foot bed and bent her knees.

"Calm down," he ordered as gently as he could manage in Russian. Katya ignored him. She burst into tears. Marita held the flashlight over Alex's shoulder. He carefully pushed Katya's skirt to her hips. She was dilated, but not completely. Alex rubbed her knees soothingly, but Katya pushed his hands away. Marita gathered the pillows and propped them against her back, so she was almost sitting up.

"Oh God, it's coming, I can feel it."

"She's having a contraction," Marita said to Alex in English. He looked unsure of what to do.

"Hold her hand, we just need to calm her down," he said and motioned towards Katya with his head. Marita nodded, but hesitated. Neither of them wanted to go near her. She sounded like an injured cat. Alex finally made the first move and sat down on the bed next to Katya. He grabbed one of her hands roughly. With his free hand he began fiddling with Katya's fingers.

"What are you doing?" Marita asked. She couldn't see anything besides the narrow strip of light that the flashlight illuminated across Katya's quivering belly.

"Her fingernails are too long. She's either going to hurt us, herself, or the baby. Help me peel them off," he answered. It took a little while for Marita to get a good grip on Katya's flailing hands, but when she finally did, she was able to methodically trim the nails. Katya gripped their hands for the length of the contraction. When she exhaled, Marita and Alex took the opportunity to check on the dilation of her cervix again.

"This is going to take a while," Marita mumbled. Alex looked struck and afraid. He stared down at Katya. He seemed to both pity and detest her.

"I bet you wouldn't be like this," he mentioned hours later after they made it through another contraction.

"What?"

"If you were in labor, I bet you wouldn't freak out like this." They rested Katya's swollen legs over their shoulders. The woman panted for breath.

"She's in incredible pain, Alex. I would never do this without an epidural," Marita whispered. She surprised even herself for coming to Katya's defense. The right side of her face was beginning to swell. It felt puffy and tender. Katya had been brutal a few contractions ago. Alex was ready to tie her down to the bed.

"No, she's just not a survivor. You should have picked a better surrogate," he said before twisting back between Katya's legs to prepare. Marita shined the light for him to see better. Gingerly, he reached his very messy and bloody hand inside Katya.

"I think I can feel its head," he said excitedly. He beamed at Marita. Sweat made his face look greasy and ill, but his smile was genuine. But perhaps he only wanted the labor to be over. It was almost five in the morning. The faint traces of lightening of the windows signaled the nearness of dawn. All of them were tired. Marita couldn't stop rubbing her eyes. She wished there was someone else to take her position so she could brew coffee for herself and Alex, but the contractions were coming too frequently to leave Katya.

"Katya, I need you to push," Alex said in an exasperated tone, as if he were ready to give up.

"What does that mean, push, what do you know," Katya moaned into her own shoulder. Her face looked limp and lifeless. Marita dabbed at her forehead with a checkered handkerchief she had found on the floor.

"Hand me something to catch the baby," Alex ordered without taking his eyes from between Katya's shaking legs. Marita gave him the flashlight, which he pinned to his shoulder by tilting his head.

Of course they should have thought more about towels, and water, and Marita was sure that something needed to be sterilized. But she hadn't been prepared originally to deliver the baby herself. There had been doctors back in Komchatkan. And there had been doctors here in Krasnoyarsk until the army deserted. But none of her training at the Consortium had prepared her for even the possibility of delivering the baby herself. Although, she had to amend that thought, it was Alex who was mostly in control of the situation.

"Come on Katya, don't hold your breath. Breathe, and bear down," he yelled harshly in Russian. Katya screamed at him in return, but her pain made her words unintelligible. "Marita! Hurry up, get a blanket or something," he called after her.

Marita finally grabbed a quilt that had been tossed on the floor sometime ago during one of Katya's contractions. She dragged the heavy cloth over to Alex, who bundled it into his arms as if he were making a small basket.

"Here it comes," he said in a shaky voice. The head appeared. For a moment, Marita thought that it really was an alien. It was red and twisted. Its face seemed too pinched. It looked disgusting.

But then she noticed its little toes and its curled fingers. And then she knew it was a boy. He opened his toothless mouth and wailed. A bubble of afterbirth and fluid popped over his lips. Alex cradled the baby in his arms. He looked completely surprised, as if the boy had been dropped from the sky, not expected and labored over for hours. When the cord stopped pulsing, and the last of Katya's afterbirth and placenta slipped onto the dirty floor, Alex tied off the fleshy rope and severed it with his knife.

He couldn't stop staring at the boy. To Marita, it looked as if he were trying to solve a difficult math problem, but was receiving no answer. The baby continued to cry. Alex moved with Marita to the window where they could get a better look at the boy in the soft light.

He was normal, fleshy and pink. He looked nothing like the blurry images of aliens both Alex and Marita had been shown during their separate meetings with the Consortium. But there was something special about the baby; they just didn't have a high enough clearance to know the specifics. Alex gently began to wipe to the fluid and blood off the little boy who was only beginning to calm down and fall to sleep. Alex handed over the bundle carefully to Marita, though she held the baby as awkwardly as he had.

For a few minutes they forgot about Katya, who lay heaving and spent on the bed. Finally, they returned to her side. Marita lowered the baby next to Katya.

"Do you want to feed him?" Marita asked. Alex started to excuse himself from the room. Though he had just spent most of the night with his hands clinically invading Katya's cervix and womb, Marita thought he must have felt embarrassed to watch the baby feed. Katya didn't reply. "He needs to eat, Katya." Again, Marita received no answer. Finally, she simply unbuttoned Katya's shirt with one hand. The woman was too weak to stop her. But when Marita laid the boy against Katya's breasts, she pushed it away with a look of sneering disgust.

"I'm finished," was all she could pant.

Marita felt alarm choke her. She had no contingency plan for rejection. She tried to offer the baby to Katya again. But Katya refused, closed her shirt and turned over in bed. She fell asleep, or at least wouldn't answer Marita's pleas.

Marita looked at Alex helplessly from the seat on the bed. The baby started to wriggle, so she wrapped him tighter in his blanket. This seemed to satisfy the baby, who fell asleep again. A small tuft of dark, brown hair lay on his forehead. It was feather soft.

"Could anything more go wrong for you?" Alex asked her blandly as he washed his hands in the basin. He dried his hands and leaned on the doorframe. His green eyes looked flat and empty. His shoulders sagged. He ran his hand repeatedly over his short, dark hair. He looked sexy in his tight t-shirt and Soviet uniform trousers, but his clothes were stained with blood, sweat, and nameless fluids.

"It's not going wrong for me now, it's going wrong for you," she answered after a pause. The baby grabbed her finger and grasped it tightly.

"Excuse me?"

"He's yours now. That was the deal," Marita said slowly. Alex shifted onto his other foot.

"Yes, he's mine. I just thought I would be in more control when he was born."

"You thought you would still be dictator?"

"Yeah. I didn't think that her pregnancy would drag on so long. I guess that's what I get for being a bachelor."

"What will you name him?" Marita asked. They had moved into Alex's room now. They lay on the bed with the child cradled between them. The baby still hadn't woken. Both Marita and Alex were droopy with sleep.

"Why should I name him?"

"Well, Katya doesn't want him. Who should name him other than you?"

"Oh god, I don't know," Alex muttered. He rubbed at the crusty sleep in his eyes.

"Just name him. We need to call him something," Marita urged. She gently laid her calloused hand on his stubbly cheek. Alex stared at her deeply.

"You have very pretty blue eyes," he eventually commented. This made Marita laugh. She assumed he was being obsequious, but her laughter seemed to hurt him.

"Really? I thought I was just your whore."

"Stay with me. When this all over. We'll take over the world with little boy here." Alex held her hand gently over top the baby's sleeping bundle.

"Well you're certainly stuck with me at least until we get out of Russia. I'm holding you to that," Marita teased. Alex smiled weakly.

"I guess there's a lot more to do. No rest for the weary."

"No, not for us."

They fell silent for a long time. Marita slipped in and out of sleep, occasionally waking with a startle, only to fall back from the reassuring warmth of the baby at her chest and the heavy weight of Alex's arm draping over her shoulder. All three napped for a few hours.

The baby began to fuss when the sun was quite high in the windows. The noise woke Marita. She found herself sprawled alone in the bed. She searched the room frantically, before she relaxed at the sight of Alex. He was pacing the room, looking out the windows, and cooing at the baby.

"Little Valentin, shhh. You must be hungry, little Val."

"Valentin?" Marita asked from the bed.

Alex looked startled. His face darkened. He had been caught in a moment of softness.

"Yeah, good enough for you?"

"It's a nice name," she answered quietly, trying to placate his sudden bad mood. Alex eyed her then strode out the room.

"He needs to be fed no matter what her majesty, Katya, wants," he muttered as he left. "I'll make her do it."

Marita should have felt angry with his commanding tone. After all, how could he force a woman to breastfeed? It was supposed to be natural, although occasionally difficult. But Marita couldn't blame Alex. He wouldn't ever stop being Comrade Krycek. And she needed that strength and authority. No, she craved it. She admired it in him.

She had begun to doubt the value of sensitivity and kindness in a world that had been doomed for the past fifty years since the Roswell UFO crash. What good was democracy and civil liberties? These things just devolved into uninformed politicians arguing over the meaningless details 'til they turned blue. Maybe she had spent too much time in the Soviet Union, but she was beginning to think that she would rather have someone who knew what he (or she) was doing in ultimate control. There would be no arguments. If the people didn't listen to their righteous leader, then they would be shot.

Alex knew the baby had to be fed. So it would be fed. There was no talking about feelings or preferences. What was done, was done, on penalty of extreme pain.

Two days later, Alex returned on foot from the nearest town a few miles down the road. He trudged slowly through the snow. Marita almost couldn't recognize him behind the layers of coats and mufflers. The temperature had dropped into the negatives. The wind blew arabesques through the drifts. She cradled the baby against her shoulder, always on the left. Alex told her that holding babies on the left side of the body was supposed to be a universal phenomenon. He explained that it had something to do with holding the child over the beating of the heart. Val gave a tiny burp as Marita gently patted his back. So far, he was a sweet baby who slept reasonably through the night. But he was only two days old. It was a bizarre thought: that two days ago, Val hadn't really existed. But here he was, snuggling into the crook of Marita's thin neck. The baby clothes she had brought with her in the suitcase were soft and warm. She reveled in the feeling of stroking Val's tiny back.

Alex stamped the snow off his boots in the foyer. He began the long process of disrobing, although he left his heavy sweater on to ward off the chill of the Palace. Marita was in the room to greet him. He seemed surprised to see her holding Val. He was careful to leave his face expressionless.

"Did you get everything we needed?" Marita asked. He froze, seemed somewhat annoyed, before he tossed the bags in front of here on the floor. Food, batteries, diapers, formula, everything they needed to leave on foot until they could find better transportation was there. The few abandoned trucks and jeeps scattered around the Palace had already been siphoned of gas for the generator days before Val had even been born.

Alex walked past Marita without speaking to her. She frowned, unsure of what was wrong or what she could have done to offend him.

"Alex?" she asked, trailing after him. She found him in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets that had already been searched for food. He did eventually find a forgotten tin of sardines in the corner of a broken drawer. He rolled open the lid using the key.

"I have to kill Katya before we leave," he said finally after Marita had given up questioning him. She sat at the main table with Val. She held his head protectively.

"What?"

"I have to kill her. She won't be able to travel. She can't live here. And she knows too much about Val," Alex stated with a detached air. Marita didn't answer him for a moment. She stared down at the groves and grain of the table. The dark circles of old wood knots looked like eyes staring up at her.

"Then I guess that's what you have to do." They spoke in English as usual. Without realizing it, she and Alex had been excluding Katya from the very beginning. Poor Katya, who could only speak Russian, Marita realized had never been a part of her plans for escape. She wouldn't censure Alex for decisions she had unconsciously already made. "Will you do it tonight? While she sleeps?" she asked softly.

Alex nodded his head. "We'll leave tomorrow then," he replied. With two fingers, he pinched the tail of a sardine and popped the whole fish into his mouth. He grimaced at the taste. "Fishy?" Marita asked, as if they had not just been discussing the murder of the Palace's only other resident.

"Yeah. Here, you eat the rest. You need the protein."

After putting Val to sleep in the basket next their bed, Marita sat down in front of the water basin and looked at herself in the warped mirror. She looked perhaps a little thinner than she had when she first arrived at the Palace. But her cheeks were warmer. Her hair looked smoother. The life of the old Russian Counts seemed to suit her. She liked living in this empty mansion, with no one to answer to but Alex. She felt a momentary flutter of panic in her stomach. Although she needed to leave the Soviet Union and return to the material comforts of the US, she did not want to return to the Consortium.

Val looked so soft and helpless in his basket. He practically disappeared into the folds of the enveloping blankets. She did not want to turn him over to her superior. Val had a gift. He was not human. But she did not fully understand what he was. He was not born of a simple combination of sperm and egg. The impregnation had been a miracle of genetic engineering.

Alex's footsteps reverberated down the hall, growing louder. Marita ran her fingers through her hair and bit her lips. She unbuttoned her collar just as he walked into the room. He stopped and stared at her. She breathed a little heavily. He smiled and she knew he had caught her preening. He swaggered to the fireplace and built up the fire a little higher.

Marita walked silently across the floor and draped her body gently against his firm back. He gripped the fire poker a little harder.

"Alex," she began.

"Yes."

"Tell me what you know about Val." The muscles in his bad seemed to ripple, then stiffen. He didn't turn to face her.

"I don't know much of anything."

"You know more than me. Spill."

"What do you know?"

"I know he was genetically engineered. A test tube baby. And I know that Katya could just tell he wasn't human. But frankly, he seems completely normal to me."

"Maybe he is."

"Then why do you want him?" Marita asked. She leaned up and kissed Alex wetly behind the ear. He shuddered as if he had gotten a chill. Marita continued her gentle kisses, but she also made sure to press her body and especially her breasts against him as hard as she could manage while standing on the toes of her boots.

"Marita," he moaned. She wrapped one leg loosely around his hip. He moved his hand obligingly and gripped her ass. She stroked the line of his jaw and kissed his mouth. She just barely dipped her tongue into his mouth. He grabbed her both hands now. "Stop, you're making me crazy."

"Just tell me then."

Alex didn't stop and consider anything. He was already kissing her neck and hiking up her skirt.

"He's not one of Spender's hybrids. He's what happens when all the alien junk genetic code gets turned on."

But Marita couldn't think about the revelation. She knew that Alex would explain it to her in more detail later. She had seduced the secret out of him, and now she intended to finish the game.

But Alex was tired of letting her have control. He grabbed her throat and propelled her to the bed.

"Wait, Val's sleeping," Marita gagged. She pointed down at the sleeping child. Alex looked down at the baby before he led Marita out of the room by her hand. She had to jog to keep up with him. They shut the door to let Val sleep undisturbed.

Their play continued in the next room over. Alex stripped Marita of her clothes. He tickled his fingers against her sodden underwear. She gasped. Alex pushed her down onto the bed, unzipped his pants and straddled her face. She sucked on him hungrily.

That night, back in their room, Marita startled awake because of a loud bang. She had been vaguely dreaming of her sisters and something about an alligator, when the noise woke her. And when she was fully aware, she could not be certain she had heard anything at all. She wondered if the noise was just a part of her dream. She peeked over the edge of the bed at Val in his basket, but he lay undisturbed. His breathing was smooth and gentle.

But a floorboard creaked down the hall. The door of the room opened slowly and a shadow figure slipped in. Marita didn't move and tried to keep her breathing deep. She didn't hear another sound except for the rustle of clothing hitting the floor. The mattress sagged on one side. It was just Alex. He spooned her body. His skin was frigid, but it soon warmed beneath the covers. He kissed her hair. Marita willed herself to close her eyes and fall back asleep. Within the hour, she slipped away again.

The next morning, Alex stopped Marita from washing her hair in the kitchen sink. She pumped the water into the basin, using the iron hand-pump, and prepared to dunk her head. She had wanted to leave the Palace feeling clean, because it could be some time before she could bathe again.

"Wait," Alex said, touching the back of her neck. She froze in the awkward position leaning over the sink.

"What is it? This is hurting my back," she whined. Alex didn't reply. He just stroked her fine hair with his fingers. He didn't look at her eyes, but above them, at the blonde hair.

"I have to shave your head."

"Excuse me?"

"Your hair, it makes you look so feminine."

"I know. I love my hair."

"Look, there isn't time to be vain. I want us out the door within the hour."

"I still don't understand why I can't keep my hair."

"It's not safe being a woman. It's total disorder out there." He produced a battery powered shaver from his coat pocket.

"No, don't do this, Alex," Marita said in a panicked tone. She tried to slip beneath his arm, but he caught her easily, spun her around, and pinned her against the counter. He held her bucking head over the sink. The clippers buzzed on. He attacked her head quickly. Long clumps of blonde locks tumbled into the unused water. The hair looked pretty at first as it floated on the unbroken surface, but it eventually sank and took of hair stuck in the shower drain. Marita fought Alex, but he was much stronger than her. Her hips bruised as he crushed against her. Eventually she stopped fighting and just cried.

"Jesus Marita, it's just hair, it'll grow back," he said at the end of the struggle. He sounded ashamed, but also unapologetic. She snuffled and wiped away her tears, but she couldn't stop herself from running her hands over the rough buzz of her head. "Here, put these on," he ordered as he flung a pile of clothing at her. It was an old uniform, which may have belonged to Alex years ago. The cloth was stained with mud, or it may have been old blood. "The hat's the most important part," he muttered. It was of an old style, with earflaps and a long brim. The star had been ripped off. "I just don't want anyone to see that you're a girl," Alex said and held her crying face to his chest as she gripped the ugly hat. "It's much safer this way, please trust me on this," he begged. She rubbed her nose against him in agreement. He rubbed her back affectionately, and then went back to the foyer to finish packing their supplies.

Marita dutifully put on the pants. She had to roll up the cuffs and belt it in order to keep them from falling down. She pulled two sweaters over her head. The coat swathed her in a shapeless mass. The hat more or less covered her entire head and most of her face. Looking in the mirror in the foyer where she had first seen her reflection in this Palace, she could hardly recognize herself. She looked like a feminine boy, with small features. But she wouldn't call herself a girl; not from a distance anyway.

Alex tied Val into a bundle on his back. Only the baby's upturned nose could be seen among the folds.

"Ready?" Alex asked. His eyes looked sweeter than usual. He pressed his gloves tighter into spaces between his fingers. He smiled and chucked her under the chin. "I'm sorry I can't just send you off safely on a plane."

"Don't worry, we'll figure it out," Marita replied simply. She leaned into his body and felt safe. He seemed to take equal comfort. He held her hand and directed her out the door, into the Siberia wilderness.

9


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or institutions. They belong to Christ Carter and 1013 productions.

Marita's endurance surprised her. She had never been what people call an outdoors woman. She was raised in Connecticut, where garden parties seemed to be the extent of her family's appreciation for nature.

But here she was, striding with equal strength and confidence through the snow as her companion, Alex Krycek, the natural born Russian. Her lungs felt clean and interminable. The world looked truly endless with its almost purple skies.

Alex snuck glances at her from time to time. Marita noted proudly, that he looked surprised. Perhaps he had expected her to whine and complain during the travels. It had been three days since they left the old Palace. They camped in the forest at night. Alex showed her how to carve out a cave in the larger drifts and pack its snow walls tightly so they could have a warm hollow to trap their heat as they slept. They mostly ate sardines, which traveled well in the tins and were one of the few foods that Alex found available in the towns they passed. He alone entered the villages to barter for supplies and information. Marita always hid on the edge of the forest, pressed against the papery bark of a birch tree, with Valentin hidden at her breast.

The baby was still in the earliest stages of infancy. Evolution apparently selected for sleepy, peaceful babies in their first weeks. Otherwise, new parents might have been tempted to give up and throw the baby to the wolves. So Alex and Marita were spared the complications of a squalling child, for the moment. He slept through the night so they were given rest after the long days of trekking.

On the third night, Alex reached for Marita. She had wrapped herself and Valentin in one of the thick, wool blankets they brought with them. She made a cocoon for herself and the child, giving him warmth from her own belly. Alex hadn't touched her since they left the old Palace. It wasn't particularly convenient to fuck in the snow. But on that third night, they slept on the outskirts of what used to be a Soviet military base.

"Abandoned," Alex had told her as they approached it. Despite his assurance, he insisted they sleep beneath the birch trees far away from the base. The woods creaked in the gentle wind. Wrapped in her blanket, Marita felt Alex's body press closer and harder against her back than it had before.

"What?" she asked him sleepily. She didn't bother to open her eyes. In her hazy awareness, she felt the harsh bite of the cold hit her face and neck. Alex tore Valentin away from her arms, but he set the baby carefully in his own discarded blanket. "Alex?" Marita asked, although she understood what she wanted.

He covered her mouth with his violent, bruising lips. "Shut up," he ordered her.

Marita's first instinct was to resist. She tried to push him off; hoped that his desire was minimal and passing. She was too tired to please him effectively. But his body struggled harder. The snow creaked as it packed firmer beneath them. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them against the snow above her head. But he stopped his usual aggression once she was under his control and gently kissed her wrists. Marita let out a low moan of surprise and understanding. He kissed the tender spot where her jaw met her ear. He kissed her eyes. Her leg pulled him closer. She felt incredible flushes and jolts of sensation. He kissed her more gently on the mouth than he had ever done before. Her eyes adjusted to the dark. The soft light from the half-moon illuminated Alex's softened face and eyes. He paused and just looked at her. Their frozen breaths sheared.

"Yes," Marita whispered. He smiled an honest smile that contained no charm or deception. He let go of her wrists so she could caress his face in turn.

Eventually, their love-making took a more traditional route. He fumbled with the zipper of his pants. She tried to push her own leggings and underwear down past her knees. Alex pulled the blanket around them.

They were startled by a noise that could only be the crunch of snow under footsteps. Alex clutched at her shoulders. She shrank. He moved the blanket from their heads, only to look into the blinding glare of a flashlight.

"What do we have here," said a deep, amused voice.

"Looks like two love birds," said a second voice with a cleaner Moscow accent.

"Shit," Alex cursed, but only Marita could hear.

"Get up," the first voice ordered. Alex quickly zipped his pants and stood slowly. He carefully let the blanket fall to cover Marita as well as he could. But she knew that the top of her shaved head could have been seen.

"Name?" asked the Moscow accent.

"Arntzen," Alex answered. He shuffled slowly towards the men with raised hands. Marita peeked out of the cover of the blanket. Although the flashlight blinded her, she recognized the distinctive silhouette of Soviet soldiers. The shoulders were made broad by their thick coats. A belt cinched their waists. The long coat flared very minimally. It gave the impression of greater size and menace than was usually the case, but Marita's mouth felt dry anyway. Her pulse intensified.

"Who's that with you?" the Moscow accent continued to interrogate. He flashed the light directly into Marita's eyes. She squinted and held her hand to the light. Instinctively, she felt for anything that could help her. But she didn't carry a gun (because she didn't know how to use one, she was not a soldier). There was nothing to use. She was alone in the blankets, half undressed.

"That's just my cousin," Alex answered heavily. His boot touched one of their packs. The two soldiers laughed. One kicked at the snow so it sprayed over their small encampment. The powder hit Valentin, making him wail. The soldiers flashed their lights at the baby who clawed helplessly in the air. He had become somewhat unraveled from his swaddling. The baby seemed to confirm their suspicion. They ignored it and returned the lights to Marita and Alex.

"Like to fuck your cousin?" the first voice asked. "You into boys?" he continued sarcastically.

"If that's a boy, then I'm a fucking girl," the Moscow accent chuckled. Their lights moved to Marita. She unfastened a few of her shirt-buttons beneath the blankets as they gawked at her.

"Nice try, Comrade. The disguise might have worked better if you hadn't been caught in the middle of a fuck," said the Moscow accent.

Marita took her chance. She stood up faster than the soldiers could react. Their lights illuminated her peaked breasts and all the skin down to her thighs. She wore only her flannel shirt hanging loosely off her shoulders. Alex dropped to the ground, grabbed something lying beside the bag, and fired two shots into the night. The soldiers collapsed into messy heaps on the snow.

Marita hurriedly dressed herself, but it took her longer because she couldn't stop shivering from the cold and excited fear. She moved to Valentin once she was reasonably dressed and hugged him to her chest. She kissed his head. He was so valuable. Until she held him, she didn't realize how scared she had been that he would be hurt.

Alex had already climbed up the drift where the soldiers lay. They twitched and moaned. Alex waited for his eyes to adjust, then aimed carefully. Valentin didn't cry quite as hard when these shots were fired. Alex looked at the baby in what Marita was tempted to call a sad, mournful way.

"I'm sorry that happened," he eventually told her. He began packing their belongings. Marita didn't question him. It was not safe to stay there for the night. They would have to continue on without rest. Marita bundled Valentin warmer and tied him to her back with the strap they had made from a torn strips of long-underwear.

"I…," Marita began, but hesitated. "Thanks," she said finally. She sounded annoyed with herself.

"Whatever, you distracted them," Alex said unevenly. He cleared his throat and heaved the pack higher on his back. He urged her up off the ground with the tip of his boot against her bent knees.

"Seems like that's all I'm good for," she answered. She looked at his feet when she said this.

He paused, though she could tell that everything in him was straining away from this dark spot in the snow. "No, you're just very smart," he told her finally and grabbed her hand to move her along.

On the fifth day, Marita felt almost normal again. However, she guessed that her recent calmness was less a result of getting used to the violence and more a function of the distance they had put between themselves and the awful event with the guards. They returned to the usual routine of Alex entering the villages alone, while Marita waited for him in the woods. On that fifth day, he returned from the latest village looking more jubilant than usual. He scooped a handful of snow and packed it into ball, which he hurled at Marita. It hit her in the knees. No doubt, his aim intentionally meant to miss the warm bundle that was Valentin nestled inside her coat.

"I got us a truck," Alex told her proudly in Russian.

"Really? Is it far?" Marita asked excitedly. She rubbed Valentin's soft cheek against her own. Though she could walk through the cold for miles, she had begun to worry that the constant exposure may not have been healthy for an infant.

"I parked it at the road, not far from here."

They gathered their bags, the bulk and weight of which Alex carried on his back. He reached for Valentin.

"You're carrying too much already," Marita pointed out. He shrugged his shoulders and tried not to lose his balance, lest he fall into a drift face first.

"My turn," he answered simply. He cradled the baby to his hard chest. The steam from his breath descended on the child, whose eyelashes fluttered between sleep and consciousness. Alex considered Valentin, before moving on. Marita followed behind. She was almost light enough to walk across the icy shell that lacquered the show. But it always cracked and dropped her powder beneath.

The truck was Soviet Union standard issue: bulky and green, with a canvas canopy on the back. Unfortunately, Marita worried that it might have other standard Soviet problems, such as quality and reliability. The snow directly beneath the truck was black with oil dripping from the engine.

"She'll get us through to Kemerovo, at the very least, hopefully further," Alex told her as they got into the cab. The engine stalled at first and seemed to die. Alex turned the key again and tapped the gas lightly until the truck began to vibrate and bounce with its own power. Marita switched on the heat. The windows clouded with condensation as they pulled out on the empty, snow covered road. Alex wiped the windshield with his glove to clear himself a view.

They drove for hours, past dark. Marita fed Valentin his bottle and burped him. The baby fell asleep in a cradle of coats and scarves she fashioned on the seat. She wedged this bundle against herself and the door. Exhaustion pulled and teased at her, but every time she seemed to fall asleep her head would snap up in frustration. The lonely road seemed unreal, as if only the headlights from the truck brought it into creation. But once the light passed, it was as if that small piece of road behind them had never existed. The birch trees leaned over them from both sides. It was like being in an endless tunnel.

"You should sleep," Alex said late into the night. His grip on the wheel seemed as strong as ever. He looked sharp and alive. In contrast, Marita felt only half-cast.

"No," she muttered and blinked her eyes again.

"Why not?"

"I don't know," she answered truthfully.

"Are you scared?" Alex asked her in a low voice, as if there was anyone to hear them. She noticed that he spoke only in Russian now. She didn't understand the significance. "Are you scared of me?" he asked even quieter. She answered him in Russian.

"I'm not sure, Alex." Since the event with the soldiers, he hadn't touched her. Although she knew this was the safest thing to do (and perhaps the only way to maintain her poor disguise), she felt almost hurt, as if she had been rejected.

To add to the complication, she knew that she shouldn't want the sex. Alex had forced her into this agreement originally. It was rape. There was nothing else to call it. Anything else would be grievous rationalization. But during the entire mess of the army's desertion, the collapse of the Union, and Valentin, her feelings and her rationality had become confused. She didn't want to care for a man who had hurt, yet also helped her. She found herself frighteningly out of control of her emotions.

"Maybe I have that syndrome; I don't remember what they call it. Where the hostage starts to identify with their captor," she said flatly, drunk with fatigue. Her eyes closed as she said this.

Alex nodded his head and seemed to accept this. "I'm glad you're not fooling yourself," he said quietly. He draped his arm around her shoulder and drove with one hand. He pulled her down. The movement was a firm order. She relented and nuzzled into the space under his arm and slightly behind his back.

When she woke, her head was in his lap. The truck was stopped on the side of the road. The gentle glow of dawn invaded the windows. Alex's head had fallen back against the seat. He snored loudly. Valentin gurgled, which prompted Marita to sit up and attend to him. She changed the baby's diaper quickly. She was getting better at it.

Later that day, they came to their first checkpoint. Whatever government was in charge now (and Marita wasn't entirely sure) had at least continued this security measure. They had made it to the next province over, moving West. Padma lay just beyond in the distance, on the edge of a frozen plain. A mountain range, massive against the barren flatlands, loomed beyond the tiny city. The checkpoint constituted little more than a makeshift gate of barbed wire, cinder blocks, chain link fence, and two guards poking their head out the window of their tin shack.

"Destination?" the blonde guard asked Alex. Alex leaned on his elbow through the truck window and spoke carefully; his speech full of respectful and polite signifiers. He told them they were on their way to Padma, to find a new job a little closer to his parent's home.

"What are you carrying?" the same guard asked suspiciously, looking at the bed of the truck. Alex twisted in his seat to search for the guard's interest.

"Oh there's nothing in there. You can check if you want," Alex said easily, because it was true.

"Who's with you?" the guard asked, standing on the wheel well to get a closer look inside the cab. Marita had pulled on her coat and hat when they first saw signs of the checkpoint ahead. She looked down at her trembling hands in her lap. They had covered Valentin lightly with one of their sweaters. Hopefully the baby would stay quiet.

"Oh, he's just my brother," Alex answered quickly.

"What's this?" the other guard appeared for the first time, on the other side of the truck. He looked in the window and pointed down at the bundle covering Valentin. The baby was wriggling and fussing.

"My brother got in some trouble. Our mother wants to take care of the kid," Alex replied, a little more clipped. He gripped the steering wheel tightly. One hand began to slowly move behind his back.

"Your brother's? Where's the kid's real mother?"

"Runoff with some soldier. You know how it goes." Marita noticed Alex's foot pressing restlessly against the clutch. He stopped himself occasionally, but the nervous habit would resume moments later. The blonde guard chewed on his thick lips.

"Papers," he ordered, but his tone seemed to imply that he had already decided to let them pass. Alex smiled easily.

He shuffled through his coat pockets and produced the traveling papers, moving papers, clearance papers, work papers, and identification papers for all three of them. Marita tried not to look too astonished at the mass of credentials the guard now clutched in his hand. She shut her mouth quickly before anyone could accuse her of gaping.

"How much was she, Comrade?" the blonde guard asked as he examined the documents. Alex frowned and looked angry. The guard glanced past Alex and leered at Marita eagerly, touching his belt.

"She's quite expensive, actually," Alex answered darkly. The guard's goofy expression faltered.

"Let me have her for a minute and then you can go through."

"With a baby in the truck? I don't think so."

"Your baby?"

"Yeah. So do you really want an expensive whore with a stretched cunt?" Alex said harshly. The guard looked less eager. His nose twisted as if he smelt something bad.

"She must be something if you're taking her with you," he said with less enthusiasm than before.

Alex stared at the guard. He looked slightly amused. "Best fuck I ever had. But damn expensive. Want the baby too?"

"No," the blonde guard said weakly. "No, I've got enough of that at home."

"Then I'm going to get going, if my papers say I'm all set," Alex said angrily and slammed the door shut.

"Apologies, Comrade Arntzen," the guard shouted over the roar of the diesel engine. Alex didn't acknowledge this. He stepped hard on the gas pedal. The wheels spun for second, spraying snow over the tin shack, before they finally caught some traction.

Marita checked Valentin, who had been clueless and pleasant during the unfortunate stop. She held the baby tightly. It was difficult to control her shaking.

"That was scary," she said in a lame tone. Alex looked annoyed.

"You're a fucking pain in the ass," he finally answered her. His teeth showed as he spat this statement. Marita tried not to take it personally, but the harsh words still made her throat tighten. "What the fuck am I doing sticking my neck out for you!" he yelled. The truck bounced roughly over an icy bump in the snow. Marita bit her tongue by accident from the unexpected jolt.

"It's for Valentin," Marita answered quietly, so softly, she was sure Alex didn't hear her.

"It's impossible to get you out of this country. I should just dump you off here. Have fun. Find some local. Settle down. Because you're too fucking pretty to go unnoticed."

"I'm sorry," Marita said even softer than before. He was upset, unreasonable. She didn't want to provoke him further.

"And the baby! Christ. As if we could look any more suspicious. Who travels with a two weeks old?" Alex yelled. He beat the steering wheel with the palm of his hand for emphasis.

"I'm sorry," Marita said a little louder.

"Stupid whore."

"Stop calling me that!" Marita finally broke. Valentin wailed at the noise and confusion. The poor baby sobbed and drooled into Marita's shoulder until her shirt felt damp and sticky. They were miles past the checkpoint, but still miles from the city. Alex slammed on the breaks so hard that all three of them jolted against the headboard. This upset Valentin further.

Alex pushed her down on the seat, pushed the screaming Valentin onto the muddy floor. He dropped his weight heavily on top of her. She tried to curl into a ball, burying her face into the back of the seat. Alex thrust himself roughly on her a few times, although both were still wearing their clothes. Marita punched him blindly. She didn't connect the first punch very well. It glanced off his cheek bone. But the second spastic hit smacked him in the nose. This seemed to calm him. He stopped kicking at the door. He rubbed his nose and lay on her silently. His other hand drifted down to rest gently on Valentin's stomach.

"It's just too hard," he finally mumbled into her covered breasts. Marita nodded her head, though he couldn't see that. He sat up and sighed, rubbed his face and nose again. Marita picked Valentin. She shushed him, bounced him lightly on her thigh. Alex raised one finger limply to the baby, perhaps as a way of apology. Valentin grabbed the calloused finger into his tiny hand.

"We had a deal. I'm sorry this is hard," Marita said after several minutes of silence, only when her heart rate lowered. Alex nodded his head weakly. He bit at a fingernail, tearing at it with his teeth.

"I know, I'm sorry," he answered her eventually. They stared silently into each other's eyes. A moment of understanding passed between them.

"Do you like me?" Marita asked hesitantly, burying her face on top Valentin's head. She didn't want to see his expression.

"You're ok," he answered softly, warmly. "You've got nerve."

Marita burst into a sharp, nervous peal of laughter. "Thanks," she said sarcastically. Alex shrugged his shoulders.

"You're also hot," he continued while he started the engine.

"So you've told me," Marita answered. She turned away so he wouldn't see her blush.

"I think at the very least, you'd make a good partner."

"But aren't I just a pain in the ass."

"You're a pain in the ass when I don't want you to be pretty. Otherwise, you're useful."

"Then let's just get out of Russia. We'll deal with the rest later."

"You mean, we'll deal with Valentin."

That was not exactly what Marita meant. True, she wanted to see the Project brought to completion. The baby needed to be studied, she supposed. But she also wanted to deal with Alex and her unreasonable affection and attraction to him. Perhaps when she no longer needed his help and protection, the feelings would fade. In effect, her payment would end. But she couldn't be sure that would happen until they reached safety.

The rest of their journey through Russia remained uneventfully annoying. Check points and disgruntled guards who weren't sure of their next paycheck let them through apathetically. Marita didn't take the ugly Soviet hat off their head. She needed to keep low.

They arrived in Istanbul, Turkey by plane almost two weeks after they left the old Palace. Valentin was nearly a month old. He was gaining form and substance every day. He was to get robust and healthy. Up 'til Istanbul, Alex had taken to talking to Valentin in Russian, telling him stories that made Marita laugh, singing little songs almost tunelessly as if he was embarrassed to carry a melody. But once they reached Istanbul, Alex changed.

In the hotel room (their first luxury in weeks), he discarded his uniform and donned jeans and a t-shirt. He completed the outfit with a worn leather jacket which looked used and stolen. Black gloves were the final accessory. He no longer touched Valentin with his skin, just the clinical leather.

"Marita," he said in a tone that left no clues as to his thoughts. His face was turned from her, but she could see his reflection in the mirror above the bureau. Despite the change in uniform, it was a similar expression as the one she saw when she first met Alex. She sat cross-legged on the bed feeding Valentin his bottle. The baby sucked at it greedily; wriggled in her arms with pleasure. "Give me the baby," he ordered. The deal was about to be completed.

9


End file.
